Chapter 2 - The Letters Beneath the Floorboard
Brooke waited until Evan left to collect champagne from the store.
Bethany was outside directing a florist, and the caterers were unloading trays through the kitchen. The second-floor hallway stood empty.
Brooke approached Evan’s room.
The door was locked.
She returned to her bedroom, took a narrow hairpin from her dresser, and came back. Amelia had taught her how to open simple locks when Brooke was twelve, after Larry accidentally trapped himself in the garage.
It took less than a minute.
Evan’s room smelled of expensive cologne and stale coffee. Clothing covered a chair. A laptop sat open on the desk. The cardboard boxes were stacked beside the wardrobe.
Brooke found the velvet case in the second box.
Empty.
She searched beneath folded tablecloths, old photographs, and several books that had belonged to Amelia. At the bottom lay a small wooden carving of an apple tree.
Brooke recognized it from her childhood.
Amelia had kept it on her desk.
Brooke turned it over.
A strip of fresh adhesive ran along the base.
She peeled it back and discovered a tiny brass key.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Brooke slipped the key into her pocket and closed the box.
The handle turned.
She barely had time to duck behind the wardrobe before Bethany entered.
Bethany closed the door carefully.
A second person came in behind her.
Brooke could see only polished black shoes.
“Did she find anything?” a man asked.
Brooke held her breath.
Bethany’s voice was low.
“She saw the case.”
“You should have destroyed it.”
“I told Evan not to bring those boxes down.”
“And the key?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you have a problem.”
“We have a problem,” Bethany snapped. “The trust activates today.”
The man moved farther into the room.
Brooke saw the edge of a navy suit.
“Only if Larry completes the acknowledgment.”
“He landed an hour ago.”
“Then keep him away from her until after midnight.”
“What happens after midnight?”
“The trustees can request an emergency review. We’ll claim Brooke is financially irresponsible and emotionally unstable.”
Brooke’s stomach tightened.
Bethany laughed bitterly.
“She lost her job. She moved home. She steals from rooms and makes accusations. It won’t be difficult.”
The man lowered his voice.
“And if Larry refuses?”
Bethany did not answer immediately.
Then she said, “He won’t.”
A phone rang downstairs.
Bethany cursed.
“We’ll talk later.”
The man left first.
Brooke stayed hidden while Bethany searched the boxes. She tore through them with increasing desperation, dumping tablecloths and photographs onto the bed.
Finally, she found the wooden apple tree.
She inspected the bottom.
The key was gone.
Bethany’s face transformed.
She pulled out her phone and dialed.
“She has it,” she whispered.
Brooke’s pulse hammered.
Bethany listened.
“No, I can handle her. But you need to move the documents.”
Another pause.
“Evan’s room. Beneath the loose board.”
Brooke looked down.
One floorboard near the desk sat slightly higher than the others.
Bethany ended the call and hurried out.
Brooke waited until the hallway was silent.
Then she went to the desk and knelt.
The brass key opened a tiny lock hidden beneath the lifted board.
Inside the cavity lay three sealed bank envelopes, a flash drive, and a leather pouch.
Brooke opened the pouch first.
Amelia’s necklace slid into her palm.
It was a delicate gold chain with a green stone shaped like an apple leaf. Brooke had seen her mother wear it almost every day of her childhood.
Her eyes filled with tears.
She clasped it around her neck.
Then she opened the first envelope.
It contained a statement from Caldwell Orchard Holdings.
Brooke knew the name vaguely. Her maternal grandfather had owned apple orchards throughout the county, but most were sold before Brooke was born.
The statement listed a balance of more than twelve million dollars.
The authorized beneficiary was Brooke Amelia Caldwell.
The mailing address belonged to a private office in the city.
The second envelope contained notices of repeated withdrawals.
Each had been approved by a company called Dorne Advisory Services.
The third held a past-due demand for repayment on a loan worth nine hundred thousand dollars.
The borrower’s signature looked like Brooke’s.
She had never seen the document before.
The bedroom door slammed open.
Evan stood there holding two champagne cases.
His gaze dropped to the papers.
Then to the necklace around Brooke’s neck.
“What are you doing?”
“Why are bank records hidden under your floor?”
He set down the champagne.
“You broke into my room.”
“Why is my name on this loan?”
“Give me the documents.”
“No.”
He stepped toward her.
Brooke backed away.
“Evan, where did you get these?”
“I said give them to me.”
He grabbed her wrist.
Brooke twisted free.
The papers scattered.
Evan reached for the necklace.
“You stole that from my mother.”
“It belonged to mine.”
He seized the chain and pulled.
The clasp cut into Brooke’s neck.
She shoved him.
Evan stumbled into the desk, knocking the laptop to the floor.
The screen lit up.
A spreadsheet was open.
Brooke saw columns of dates, transfers, and names.
One name appeared repeatedly.
B. Caldwell.
Another appeared near the bottom.
L. Caldwell.
Her father.
Evan lunged for the laptop, but Brooke grabbed the flash drive and ran.
“Mom!” he shouted. “She found it!”
Brooke reached the stairs as Bethany rushed inside from the yard.
Guests had begun arriving early.
A dozen people watched Brooke descend with torn bank papers in one hand and Amelia’s necklace around her throat.
Bethany looked at the documents.
Then she looked at Evan.
“What did she take?”
Brooke held up the loan notice.
“You tell me.”
Bethany’s expression went still.
“You searched my son’s room?”
“Why is there a loan in my name?”
“You’re confused.”
“Nine hundred thousand dollars is not confusing.”
The first guests stopped talking.
Evan came down the stairs.
“She attacked me.”
Brooke stared at him.
“You grabbed me.”
Bethany turned toward the room, instantly performing for the crowd.
“This is what we’ve endured for months. We gave her a place to live, and she repays us by stealing, lying, and attacking my son.”
Brooke held up the documents.
“These were beneath his floor.”
“Because you put them there.”
“What?”
Bethany’s eyes filled with calculated tears.
“She’s jealous. Today was supposed to be a happy day, but she cannot tolerate anyone else receiving attention.”
Someone whispered near the dining room.
Brooke searched the faces for one person willing to question Bethany.
Nobody did.
Bethany stepped closer.
“Go upstairs. Pack your things.”
“I’m not leaving until Dad gets home.”
“You are leaving now.”
Brooke clutched the flash drive.
Bethany saw it.
Her eyes narrowed.
May you like
Then she smiled.
And Brooke realized her stepmother had just decided that humiliation was no longer enough.
